Una’s ears burned red. “It would not have been legal,” she pointed out. “I—to be honest, I do not know what can have been running through his head.”
Armand thought about this, still a good deal startled. “You are on good terms with him?” he ventured.
“I have not seen him for over four years,” she said. “But yes, we were always fond of each other. I liked him best out of all my half-siblings.”
“How many do you have?”
“My father never counted the girls,” she said in an expressionless voice. “But he sired four boys out of wedlock.”
He was loth to pry, but if these half-blood siblings might start popping out of the wainscoting, he should be prepared. “Is it a painful subject or …?”
She did not answer for a moment. “Do you have any siblings, Sir Armand?” she asked, and the return to formal address did not go unnoticed by him.
“Two brothers and a twin sister,” he admitted.
“A twin? You must be close.”
“Not especially.” His family was never a thing he voluntarily discussed, but he fully recognized the hypocrisy of expecting her to while he would not. He grimaced. “I have an older brother Henry who is my father’s heir. He is also a colossal bore,” he said damningly. “And his wife’s even worse. Then I have a younger brother, Roger, who is also something of a dullard.”
“And your sister? Is she also a bore?”
He glanced across and found Una’s eyes twinkling. He relaxed at once. “Somewhat,” he answered with a laugh. “She didn’t use to be, but then she married a bore and became one by association.”
She nodded. “So, your family are boring.” She sighed. “That must be nice.”
He snorted. “Nice?”
She was silent a moment. “Maybe my father had more offspring that I do not know of,” she said at last. “But the ones he acknowledged were Forwin, Otho, Umrey, and Waleran. It was a great source of bitterness to him that they were born on the wrong side of the blanket and I his only legitimate issue.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “They all served in his army. Had he won the war, my father promised Forwin and Waleran great titles and estates. Their mothers were noblewomen, you see. As for Otho and Umrey, they served as simple soldiers. They were all wholly devoted to his cause.”
Armand did not speak, just waited for her to continue. After a moment she did. “Umrey was killed at the battle of Leefold. My father barely acknowledged the loss, for it was in the early part of the campaign and he said we must all be prepared for sacrifices. But when Forwin and Waleran both died at Demoyne he was devastated. I believe he would have legitimized Forwin if his conscience would have permitted it, but he believed too strongly in the divine right of Kings to ever formalize a bastard.” She lapsed into silence once more and looked sad.
Armand cleared his throat. “Forwin was your father’s favorite?”
“Yes, he was his firstborn and older than me by some five years.”
“But you did not like him?”
Una colored slightly. “He was too like my father for me to like him,” she admitted.
Her lack of filial piety was strangely cheering to him. “I never liked my father either,” he admitted bracingly.
Una gasped then coughed. “He was too boring for your tastes?” she asked after a moment.
“He was … very distant,” Armand said cheerfully. “Disapproving and aloof. I was my mother’s favorite though, and looking back on it now, I can see why my brothers resented me for it.” He winced. “She was not a subtle woman.”
“Neither was my father,” Una added looking a little guilty. “I never admitted to anyone before that I did not like him.”
“How does it feel to say it out loud?”
Una thought about it. “I’m not sure,” she said musingly. “In the North, everyone would have it that he was a saint and a martyr. No one would ever dream of breathing a word against him. It feels a little wrong to acknowledge that I held no love for him out loud.”
“Give it some time,” Armand recommended. “It will get easier.” She smiled faintly but made no reply to this. “Tell me about Otho.”
Una considered. “He and I are much the same age. Maybe that is why he was my favorite, I do not know. His mother was a serving maid at my father’s castle in Menith. She died when we were both quite small, and my father had Otho fostered out to a knight called Sir Moreland. All my half-brothers would be brought to visit on feast days and sit at the high table. Forwin and Waleran came at other times too, but Otho and Umrey were only permitted on special occasions.” She lapsed into silence for a moment. “Forwin was always … unkind … to Otho. Umrey too, but it was not so bad for Umrey because he had his mother still and her people, whereas Otho had no one. I suppose really, it was Forwin’s insecurity at his own status that caused him to lash out at them, but it was hard not just to see him as a bully.”
“How was Forwin to you?” Armand asked.
“Oh, he never dared to be anything other than scrupulously polite to a princess of the blood,” she said in an odd tone.
He wanted to probe further but could tell a dark shadow was being cast over Una to speak of her past. The twinkle from her eye was quite snuffed out and she had turned pale. In the spirit of fair play, he thought he had better volunteer some personal detail. “My mother used to say I was the very image of her own father and favored me over both Henry and Roger,” he admitted. “It did not exactly endear me to them.”
At length, she asked, “Is your mother dead now?”
“Yes, some four years now.”
“What of your father?”
He pulled a face. “Oh, he’s still around.”
“And he did not play favorites?”
“I’m happy to say he disliked all of us equally,” Armand responded with a smirk.
Una was quiet for a moment. “I think you said your siblings are married?” she ventured.
“All save Roger, who is intended for the church. Well, at least he was last time I spoke to him,” Armand acknowledged. “Which was a while back.”
“I see, and they all settled around your childhood home?”
“Henry and his wife Muriel live with my father at Anninghurst. That’s the family seat. Henry will inherit of course.”
“They have no children?”
Armand shook his head. “No, and I doubt they will now. Muriel is older than Henry. She was a widow already when he married her and must be nearly fifty if she’s a day. My brother Roger has probably left home for the seminary at Upper Derring by now. That was the plan I believe.”
“And your sister?”
“She lives about five miles from Anninghurst with her husband.”
“And they have children?”
Armand screwed up his eyes. “Boy and a girl, I think.” Una blinked at his vagueness. “Pretty sure that’s right,” he added. She looked like she wanted to press him further but held herself back. He could only be glad of her forbearance.
“So,” he said, after a few minutes’ silence. “If your brother was to waylay us unexpectedly, what would his motivation be, do you suppose?”
Una looked troubled. “I could not be sure. We have not seen each other since I was taken by Wymer’s forces. I was given no news of his whereabouts, or indeed anyone else’s while I was under house arrest with Lord Mycroft. I do not know what he has been doing for the past four and a half years,” she admitted hopelessly. “He could even have been prisoner for some of that time at least.”
“Could it be that he simply wishes to see that you are healthy and happy?” he suggested slowly.
“It could well be,” she agreed. “As I said, we were always fond of one another growing up.” She chewed her bottom lip for a moment.
“What is it?” he asked, idly curious about what was on her mind.
“What if it is not Otho?”
“Who else could it be?”
“Soldiers,” she said, tensely. “What if they say I did not apply for
the King’s permission, as is correct?” He saw her knuckles were white where she held the horse’s reins.
“His chief advisor was well aware of our plans,” he pointed out calmly. “I don’t think you need worry on that score. And anyway,” he added with a shrug, “if they did, we would simply accompany them back to the palace and get the proper permission.”
Una’s relieved gaze flew to meet his. “Really?” she croaked.
“Of course. What else?” She did not answer, but he saw her relax in the saddle. “What say you to this place?” he asked, nodding to an inn that had just come into view on the horizon. “To take our midday meal.”
Una raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “I am agreeable,” she said and attempted to throw off the heaviness of their prior conversation with a smile.
He almost wished he had held his tongue, instead of troubling her with it. He stole a look at her as they turned into the courtyard. She was clearly an excellent rider with much experience. It was a pleasure to watch her handle the pretty mare Lord Vawdrey had sent for her use. “Was she one of the Queen’s stable?” he asked, directing his gaze at her horse.
“No, I have never seen her before. She’s a real beauty. I doubt the Queen would have parted with such a horse without a lively fight.”
A groom came out of the stables to meet them and they dismounted, handing the horses over to his charge, after extracting one or two valuable items from the saddlebags.
“Come,” said Armand. “Let us see what their table has to offer two hungry travelers.” He held his arm out to her and Una took it. Together they strolled into the entrance of The Red Hind, and he saw her seated at a bench by the window as he went in search of some service. He soon found an amiable looking servant who assured him they would bring out some repast with all due haste.
He was approaching the main chamber again, when he heard Una’s voice upraised and paused on the threshold.
“Indeed, Otho,” he heard Una protesting spiritedly. “You mistake the matter. I was not unwilling in my marriage, and I am here by my own free will.”
He could not make out the impassioned words that answered, for the male with her spoke in tones of low urgency.
“No, Otho,” Una broke in again. “I will not come with you. I beg you will understand, you are threatening my liberty, not aiding it by this action.”
Armand stepped into the room. “Ah, good day,” he said pleasantly, noting how the man’s hand clapped at once to the dagger in his belt. “How do you do? I’m De Bussell and I see you already know my wife.” He walked toward them purposefully but slowly, giving the man time to recover his composure. He was a hulking male with close cropped hair and a strong, stubborn jaw.
“Armand,” said Una with relief, and he did not think she had addressed him so familiarly before. “Allow me to introduce you to Otho, who is by way of a kinsman of mine.”
Otho straightened up, looking Armand’s way with marked reluctance. “How do ye do?” he muttered stiffly.
“But what a pleasant coincidence to run into your kinsman in such a remote spot,” Armand commented blandly, coming to a standstill behind Una. He flashed an easy smile as he dropped a propriety hand to rest on her shoulder.
Otho’s gaze followed the action with frozen hostility before glancing away. He swallowed before answering. “A minor connection only,” he said hoarsely, finding his voice. “From a less venerable branch of the family.”
“I see,” Armand drawled, swinging a leg over the bench, beside Una. “Can I convince you to join us for your midday meal, kinsman Otho? You would be most welcome to share our meal.”
Under the table, Una’s hand briefly touched his own. He was not sure if it was an unspoken warning or a gesture of support. It didn’t really matter, catching hold of it, he raised it above the table and brought it to his lips before folding it firmly between his own two hands. She closed her fingers around his own, grasping him firmly.
“I wish you would, Otho,” she said brightly. “It has been too long since I last saw you, and it would be good to hear how you have been.”
Otho’s jaw worked angrily. “You know I cannot,” he muttered angrily.
“Why?” asked Armand politely, though he knew of only one reason for not breaking bread or eating at another man’s table. It meant, by the old ways that you were forbidden from shedding his blood. “You are fasting, Otho,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps you are on a pilgrimage? Now I come to think of it, I believe there is a shrine near here to some saint or water nymph, I forget which.” The landlord had entered at this point, bearing a platter of fresh bread. “Ah, landlord. Perhaps you can advise us. The shrine near here next to the lake, who is it dedicated to?”
“Why, bless you, my good sir, that shrine is dedicated to Saint Drusis.” He set the bread down and leaned his hip against the table. “That there shrine is the reason for most of our trade these days,” he chuckled, rocking back on his heels.
“A popular saint?” Armand asked, taking a piece of bread from the plate and tearing it. It was barley bread, fresh and warm. He passed a piece to Una, who took it with thanks.
“I should say he is,” the landlord beamed. “Why, newlyweds come from miles around to visit that shrine!”
“Newlyweds?” asked Una, gamely. “Then perhaps we should visit it, husband? For we have not yet been wed three days.”
The landlord looked from one to the other of them. “Is that so? A happy coincidence! You must make for the shrine as soon as you have taken your meal.”
Armand appeared to take this under consideration. “We have been blessed already by a priest,” he prevaricated. “Why should we need this additional benediction?”
The landlord seemed to be enjoying a private joke. “Oh ho! You won’t want to miss this opportunity, good sir, indeed you won’t!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “There is a seat at that shrine, formed naturally in the rock it is. They do say that the saint blessed that seat so whosoever sits in it first, be it husband or wife they will hold sway for the rest of their marriage.”
“Indeed?” said Una with raised brows. “It seems too good an opportunity to miss.”
“Sounds a very risky business from my point of view,” Armand pointed out with a grin. The landlord guffawed and two more maidservants emerged at this point carrying roasted venison, white pea soup, pork pie, and a large flagon of ale.
“This all looks very delicious,” Una said to the landlord, who bowed to them and then poured three cups of ale.
“Do not hesitate to hail me, should you need anything else,” he said, retreating to the kitchens.
“You’re sure we can’t tempt you to join us?” Armand asked Otho cheerfully, but Una’s brother would only glare at the floor and shake his head. “A pity,” sighed Armand. “But you can only lead a horse to water.” Otho looked up quickly at that, but then flung away from them, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that the hinges rattled.
“He means well by me,” Una said unevenly. “Only he does not understand.”
Armand reached for the venison and began to carve. “Try not to worry,” he said to Una as he placed a slice on her plate. “We won’t stop again until nightfall, so you need to eat well now.”
“I think he will be dogging our steps,” Una replied in the manner of one making a confession. “He has a determined character and will not accept defeat on this so easily.”
“Or he will be skulking in the stables waiting for us to finish here,” Armand agreed briskly. “But there’s little to be gained from worrying about that now.”
“Sir Armand,” she said earnestly, placing her hand over his. “You must not underestimate Otho. He is very handy with a sword. Indeed, he came out of that May Day tournament as the rightful winner—”
He felt a prickle of annoyance. “Una,” he said, turning his hand under hers, to capture her fingers. “You must not underestimate me, either. I am perfectly capable of handling brother Otho.” She looked startled and
frankly unconvinced, which was his own fault really for shamming that loss in the first round.
“Was May Day the only event you ever saw me fight?” he asked, releasing her hand, and reaching for his ale cup. Was it too much to hope she might have seen one of his more reputable displays in the field?
“The King required my presence at all of the royal tournaments held over this past twelve months,” she answered, avoiding his eye.
Armand cast his mind back. Unfortunately, he had found it more profitable to throw all his recent royal performances. He eyed her silently as she picked up her spoon to sample her soup. Gods, she must think her husband totally inept. The thought was strangely bothersome to him. Almost, he hoped her churlish brother was waiting outside for him, so he could vindicate himself by sending him sprawling in the dirt.
“Have some more bread,” he said aloud, shrugging off such uncustomary thoughts. After all, what did he care what she thought of him?
He managed to keep the conversation flowing during their meal, ably assisted by Una who it seemed was an old hand at hiding her unease. Her conversation and dutiful smiles did not show her anxiety. The only thing that gave her away was the way her fingers could not keep still. When they were not plucking at her napkin, they were tearing her bread into small pieces or burying themselves into her skirts.
Armand found himself grudgingly respecting her fortitude. No one could have been pleasanter or smiled wider as she thanked the landlord when he reminded her to visit the shrine and “gain the upper hand.” Of course, the landlord did not know that Armand had already wrung a promise from her that she would yield to him in all things. For some reason, that thought was a disquieting one, too.
“What piece of advice did Bess give you?” he asked impulsively, as he extended his hand to her, helping her up from the bench.
Her smile seemed less forced this time as she took his hand. “She cautioned me against the wiles of a pretty face,” she admitted. “And suggested an old man for my next matrimonial prospect.”
“Did she, by gods,” he laughed, pulling her out of her seat and glad to see the twinkle restored to her eye. “I hear they are easier to handle.”
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 8